


Binding

by Libitina



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Dark, Inanimate Objects, M/M, Other, abuse of latin, evil inanimate object
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-10
Updated: 2003-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libitina/pseuds/Libitina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Riddle creates the diary; Severus Snape is created a Death Eater</p>
            </blockquote>





	Binding

Tom preferred the dark corners of the school. He craved the long abandoned rooms, luminous around the edges as wand light tangled in dust and cobwebs. These secrets he knew, which no one else bothered to learn, all belonged to him. These rooms were his own, private and special, to use as he pleased. They were refuges where he could indulge in secret pleasures.

He had laid out one pale sheet of paper from a stack of twelve identical pages on a long, broad table. Near at hand, Tom kept his most prized instrument: a folding tool he had made from the bone of a unicorn. It was very simple, but its elegance had been worth the expense of acquiring the perfect material.

Tom flexed the edges of the sheet, assessing the grain, and decisively pulled the top of the sheet to the bottom, bending it against the grain. Tom slid his bone folder along the length of the fold, leaving a sharp, pure crease. Next, the sides came together, eagerly submitting to the folding. A loving trace with the folder left a delightfully perfect crease behind. Two more folds to finish the signature, and it was set aside.

Each sheet of paper was handled in the same manner, each sheet lovingly pressed into the shape Lord Voldemort desired. Red lips smirked as the name crossed his thoughts. It was a silly affectation, but it was so perfect a puzzle and a far better riddle than the name that was his father's legacy.

A perfect stack of twelve folded sheets lay piled on the desk. A finger caressed the topmost of the signatures, welcoming the pages into his heart.

* * *

Severus is grateful for the anonymity of his voluminous cloak. He would rather be in the dark corners of the school where his world was safely circumscribed, but he had been summoned to this ancient copse. He has been accepted.

He stands in a ring with eleven other boys, all trying not to tremble as they hide in their robes. It is the fear radiating from the others that helps him to calm himself. It is their anxiety that allows him to despise them. He can feel the strength of his contempt for their weakness, and it chases away any semblance of fear, chases out even the cold of the night, so that he is able to stand there, still and perfect, able to sneer at the cowards whose knees shake with trepidation.

In the center of the ring, the pile of logs bursts into flame. The one who has summoned them appears beside the flames. Severus can see him walking around the circle counter-clockwise, pausing at each initiate. A shoulder touched or a few murmured words, a nod, and the man moves to the next.

When his turn comes, Severus gracefully inclines his head to his superior. A smile is his reward: "You are prepared."

Drawing on the warmth of his pride, Severus answers evenly, "I suspect that sounded more like a question when you asked the others."

"You are perfect. Tell me your name."

The boy is now warm enough to have little need for anonymity anymore. "Severus Snape, sir."

"You enunciate your name so clearly, Snape," the wizard says with his voice hissing more as it reached his name. "Would it not sound better, Severus Snape, if it were said more slowly?" he asks, caressing each syllable lovingly with the air passing over his tongue, claiming every one.

Neither questioning nor proud, Severus Snape drops to one knee and acquiesces. "Yes, My Lord."

"So good. Do stand with your fellows and join me."

Smoke and power slide across Severus' tongue, pouring heat past his throat like firewhiskey. Parched, suddenly thirsty, he watches his destiny walk to the next boy in the circle.

* * *

Tom licked the cut thread and twisted it tightly before threading the needle. Fingers pinched the end protruding from the eye and pulled the thread through, and then gripped the needle firmly and pushed it through a block of beeswax, coating the thread as it slid through.

He had read about the frames that could hold the signatures in position while he assembled them, but to use one would make the work easier. Tom wanted to hold the folded pages in place with his hands alone, to control this book, to dominate his creation through his own force and skill.

As he picked up the first signature, he talked to the pages soothingly, "Don't you worry. This will hurt."

Tom slid the needle in through the outside of the crease all the way through the fold until it penetrated the inner leaves. Reaching his fingers inside, he pulled the thread until a tail about twice the length of the spine remained outside.

And then he pierced the signature from the inside out.

"You are doing so well. You are such lovely paper. You will make a beautiful book."

Biting his lower lip, he started sewing the second signature in place. This one was especially tricky because there were still too few signatures to secure them together properly. Carefully keeping the thread tight, he stitched down the length of this one.

On reaching the end, he pulled everything neat and tight once more before tying the thread to its tail in a double knot. Breathing freely again, Tom smiled. "I am going to tell you how I first fell in love with books, though I suppose love is too easy a word to use. It is a word my classmates adore. I don't really care for the word. Let me tell you how books came to be the only friends I could trust."

With the addition of the third signature, he was able to secure them together with a traditional Kettle stitch. Now, the process could begin in earnest and would end up with neat chains of stitches running the width of the spine.

And Tom told the creamy blank pages about the other boys at the orphanage. He told them about the happy times when he hid in a corner with no company but a book, blissfully alone, about how those were the only times he could breathe. He recalled the rapture he had experienced upon entering the library at Hogwarts for the first time. There, some of the books responded to him, and they promised so much more. There, he learned that books could be wicked and deceitful, and that he liked those books all the more because he understood them. He knew their motivations, and he knew their desires. He could read the most lugubrious of texts and feel the joy of comprehension, a melancholy understanding. He knew their aches. He knew their need. And so Tom felt most at home in the Restricted Section, and he explained to his nascent book his frustration with the librarian who impeded his access to his friends.

* * *

Severus watches Him walk the circle once more. This time, however, the Dark Lord pauses only until the hem of his robe has been kissed, leaving each youth kneeling still. Severus is realising for the first time that such deference might be completely appropriate.

The second candidate takes more time than the first. As the hood shakes in denial, fine silver hairs slip out. _Lucius. Of course. He is the oldest of us, and he has always felt that he should receive homage, not pay it. Does he not understand that this is no time for his idiosyncratic egotism? Ah. Now he sees._ Severus gives a tight little smile as Lucius' knees bend and bear their owner to the cold ground.

The others comply quickly now that the most defiant of them has lost his battle. But this time, when the obeisance is asked of Snape, he hesitates. Submission is different when it is required rather than freely given.

Again, the One commanding is amused. "You are afraid my power will consume you. You are afraid there will be nothing left. And you are clever for thinking so, but you must trust me, if I deem you worthy."

The hem of his Lord's robe whispers past Severus' lips. His Lord moves on, but the smell of peat and smoke dances in his mouth with every breath through tainted lips.

* * *

Having sewn the hand-marbled endpapers, Tom shaped the spine. One hand wrapped over the stitching and the other slid up the mouth of the book, pressing in the center and pulling the edge. Careful of the paper's delicate grain, he secured the pages in a padded clamp before gluing the graceful arc of the spine. His voice warm with appreciation, Tom whispered a drying charm: "_Sensim sicca_."

Threads of silk, green and silver, were carefully coiled and knotted to create reinforcing bands and the head and tail of the spine. As he worked the silk floss, he explained his life to the book taking form so beautifully. "I'm a Prefect, now. I can't remember the last time I was given a room of my own. I've always had to make what I wanted, creating it through my own perseverance. I would make my own spaces as I am making you, my immortality. Do you know how hard I had to work to become Prefect? I had the marks, but that was easy. I had to awe the Slytherins, but I also had to placate the faculty. I had to convince Professor Dumbledore that I was kind and gentle while allowing my house to think no such thing. I had to be perfect. Prefect. I have the badge. I won. If it had been easy, it would not have been worth attaining. I wonder if I could be Head Boy. I would like to be headmaster and have Dumbledore on his knees begging for his job. But I think I will look to the world beyond Hogwarts after graduation. I will look to those other orphans, the wretched muggle ones. I will take care of them and see that they are orphans no longer. Those puny, spiteful children are all going to die."

Focusing more on his litany than the sewing, he pierced his finger with the errant needle. The finger flew to his lips, but Tom thought better of it and allowed the blood to seep into the paper near the binding, where it would not be seen. The paper drank greedily, already seeming eager to swallow his essence. "Peace, my friend, you will have more. The spells are only just begun. Do not be lonely now while I step away, for I will be near making you a cover."

* * *

Thoughts flow through Severus like water:

_This time, my Lord stands in the center, and we must go to him. This time, I see his wand. It must be time._

_Left arm. That's good because I write with the right. I wonder if left-handed wizards get the mark on the right arm. Fool. He's trying to get away. Why did he even come, then? It must hurt. Of course it hurts. Everything worth getting hurts._

_At least Lucius doesn't scream. I won't scream._

_They are too far away. I want to see what it looks like. I've never actually seen one. Hurry so that I can see. I am eager to know if I can pass the test with dignity. I am determined that I will. Finish with them. Listen to their wretched screaming. They are not worthy of you, not as I am. Call me to you._

* * *

Supple green leather, so dark as to be almost black, was placed on the table so that the spongy underside was exposed. The fuzz on the inside was soft, like a cat's ear pressed flat against its head. Tom plotted out the necessary spacing of the spine and the covers. Then he took a razor and pared away the soft leather where it would need to be more flexible as it was folded.

Stiff boards of wood or pressed paper protect most books. This one, however, would be far more forgiving. Tom had bought a very heavy card stock that would give the book form and shape but also would make it pliable, pleasant to take to bed, like an old beloved paperback. Also, this book will be poison. It shall be a predator. This book will not need protection.

In his cauldron, Tom mixed the paste with as much care as he would the most delicate potion, even though it was only starch and water. Perhaps there was a slight charm added to increase the durability and flexibility of the paste. After all, this book was to last forever.

After the cover had been assembled and glued, Tom was resigned to having to wait for another drying charm to finish before proceeding.

He told the book about its father.

* * *

"Severus Snape," beckons Lord Voldemort.

Snape steps forward.

He knows what is expected, for he has been watching. He exposes his left arm without being prodded. He stares at the spot fixedly, anticipating. When nothing happens, he raises his eyes to meet red ones above smirking lips.

"Watch me. You have a lifetime to see the mark. And you must remember that it is not a mark you serve; the mark is merely a tool."

It is impossible to see both the flame red eyes and the burning wand tip on his arm. It is impossible not to try. It is impossible not to cry as the fire consumes and releases him.

It is possible to feel snakes slithering from his arm into his blood, filling him. It is possible to drown in the smoky sweet smell of his flesh charring. And Severus is amazed that it is possible at this moment to want even more.

* * *

He wrapped the cover around the text block and pasted the endpapers in place. Soothing words poured from his mouth as he stroked the cover. Magic words saturated the fibers with spells. Tom felt so weary, but he needed to finish.

He soothed the book as his wand blazed golden heat. He told the book the real story about what he had done to become Prefect as he burned his name into its cover in demure golden letters, "Tom Marvolo Riddle." And he swore to the trembling pages that some day he would rule the world.

**Author's Note:**

> vocabulary note: Each sheet of paper, once folded, becomes a section sewn into the book. If you look at the spine of most hardback books, you will see the pages gather in u-shaped segments. These sections (each formed from a single sheet) are called signatures.
> 
> NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest three word challenge (lugubrious, idiosyncratic, cat). Yes, in the CoS the diary was store bought, but I do not accept that you can pour your soul into prepackaged goods. Deep, grateful thanks to my betas: Laylah, Shah-rhe, Nny, Dena, and my mom. I thank Switchknife for having a page of recs with some truly lovely TR stories that helped every time I got stuck. And it is all Laylah's fault that I even started reading HP slash.


End file.
